The Sleeping Beauty Trilogy

by Anne Rice

  The Queen had been in fast conversation with the Prince. She was a mature woman, very full blown but it was from her, obviously, that the Prince had gotten his beauty. She turned, almost indifferently, her eyes darting back to the Prince, and motioning for the young slave to rise a little, she brushed back his hair affectionately.

  But then in the same indifferent manner, never withdrawing herself from the Prince, she made a motion to the Page, with a quick frown, that the boy was again to be punished.

  The Lords and Ladies nearest applauded with mock scolding gestures, and then obviously enjoyed it very much as the Page put his foot on the second step of the dais before the throne, and hoisted the disobedient slave up over his knee and again, in full view of everyone, soundly spanked him.

  A long row of dancers obscured the view for a moment, but again and again Beauty caught glimpses of the unfortunate boy, and she could see that as the paddle came down, he was having a more and more difficult time bearing it. He struggled just a little in spite of himself, and it was also quite obvious that the Page who delivered the paddling was very much enjoying it. His young face was flushed, and he was biting his lip slightly, and he drove the paddle down unnecessarily hard it seemed, and Beauty felt she hated him.

  She could hear the Lord beside her laughing. There was a little loose crowd about her now, men and women drinking, talking idly. The dancers moved in a long chain, performing their fluid and graceful movements.

  “So you see you aren’t the only helpless little creature in this world,” said the gray-eyed Lord, “and does it soothe you to see the Tribute that belongs to your Sovereigns ? You are the first Tribute for the Prince and I think that you shall have to set a fierce example. The young slave you saw, Prince Alexi, is very much a favorite of the Queen or he wouldn’t be dealt with so lightly.”

  Beauty saw that the paddling had stopped. Once again, the slave was on his hands and knees and kissing the feet of the Queen as the Page waited in attendance.

  Now the slave’s buttocks were very red. “Prince Alexi,” Beauty thought. It was a lovely name, and he too was of royal blood and high birth. Why, of course, all of them were. It was a delightful thought. What if they had not been, and she were the only Princess?

  She stared at his buttocks. There were obvious welts on them and little patches that seemed much redder than the rest, and as the young slave Prince kissed the Queen’s feet, Beauty could see also his scrotum between his legs, dark, hairy and mysterious.

  It struck her how dreadfully vulnerable he seemed, being a boy, in ways she had never considered.

  But he had been released or forgiven. He rose to his feet, and brushed his auburn curly hair out of his eyes and back from his cheek, and she saw his face stained with tears, and reddened too; yet he had about him a marvelous dignity.

  He took the pitcher handed him without complaint and gracefully he moved among the standing guests, filling their goblets.

  He was only a few paces from Beauty, and drawing ever closer. And she could hear how the men and women teased him.

  “Another paddling and you are so wretchedly clumsy,” said a very tall blond-haired Lady in a long green gown, with diamonds on her fingers, and she pinched his red cheek, as, with his eyes down, he smiled.

  His penis was hard and erect as before, rising up thick and motionless from a nest of dark curly hair between his legs. Beauty could not stop herself from looking at it.

  As he came nearer, she held her breath.

  “Come here, Prince Alexi,” said the Lord with the gray eyes. He snapped his fingers. And then taking a white handkerchief, he had the boy moisten it with the wine.

  The boy was so near now Beauty might have touched him. And the Lord took the moistened handkerchief and pressed it to Beauty’s lips. It felt good and cool and tantalizing.

  But she could not help but look up at the obedient boy Prince who stood waiting, and she saw him looking at her.

  And though his face was still slightly pink, and there were tears on his cheeks, he smiled at her.

  THE PRINCE’S BED CHAMBER

  BEAUTY AWOKE to new terror.

  It was getting dusk; the Feast was over. The Lords and Ladies who remained were very loud and swept up in the fever of the afternoon, but she was being unbound and she did not know what would now happen to her.

  Several other slaves had been soundly spanked during the course of the banquet, and it seemed finally that no offense was required, merely the decision of a Lord or Lady. The request was then granted by the Queen—and the unlucky one was thrust up over the Page’s knee, his head bowed, his feet dangling off the ground, and down came the golden paddle.

  Twice it had been young women.

  And one of them had broken into silent sobs. But there was in her manner something that made Beauty a little suspicious. After she was spanked, she scurried all too fast to the Queen’s feet, and Beauty hoped she would be spanked again until her sobs were real, and all her scurrying was real, and she found herself vaguely delighted when the Queen ordered it.

  Now, as Beauty was awakened, she thought dreamily of all this, and felt sharp fear, and also some sense of drama.

  Would she be sent away to some place with all these slaves? Or would the Prince take her?

  She was stunned with confusion, when she realized the Prince had risen and given an order to the gray-eyed Lord to bring Beauty after him.

  She was untied; she was very stiff. But the Lord now had one of those gold paddles in his hand which he tested loudly upon his palm, and giving her no time to stretch her aching muscles, he ordered her down on her knees and forward.

  When she hesitated, his command came very sharp again, but he did not strike her.

  She rushed to catch up with the Prince who had just reached the stairway.

  And soon she was following him up and down a long corridor.

  “Beauty,” he stood back. “Open the doors!”

  And kneeling up, she quickly opened them and forced them apart and then followed the Prince into a bed chamber.

  The fire was already a great blaze on the hearth and the windows were curtained, and the bed had been turned back, and Beauty was quivering with excitement.

  “My Prince, shall I begin her training at once?” asked the gray-eyed Lord.

  “No, my Lord, I shall attend to it myself the first few days, possibly longer,” said the Prince, “though you may of course, whenever the occasion arises, instruct her, teach her manners, the general rules that pertain to all the slaves, and so forth. She does not drop her eyes as she should, as you can see; she is so very inquisitive.” And at this he smiled, though Beauty at once looked down, much as she wanted to see it.

  She knelt obediently, glad her hair concealed her. And then she checked herself in this thought. She was not learning much if that was what she wanted.

  She wondered if Prince Alexi had been ashamed of his nakedness. He had had large brown eyes and such a beautiful mouth, but he was much too lean to be cherubic. She wondered where he was now, and was he being punished more for his clumsiness?

  “Very well, your Highness,” said the Lord, “but I think you realize that firmness in the beginning is a mercy to the slave, especially when the slave is such a proud and spoilt Princess.”

  Beauty blushed to hear this.

  The Prince gave a low, gentle laugh.

  “My Beauty is very like an unstamped coin,” said the Prince, “and I wish to draw in the full character. I shall take delight in training her. I wonder if you yourself are as attentive to her faults as I am.”

  “Your Highness?” the Lord seemed to stiffen slightly.

  “You were not yourself so very strict with her in the Great Hall that you prevented her from feasting her eyes on young Prince Alexi. I rather think she enjoyed his punishment as much as her masters and mistresses.”

  Beauty flushed hotly. She had never dreamed that the Prince had observed her in this.

  “Your Highness, she was only learning wha
t will be expected of her, or so I thought...” the Lord answered very humbly. “It was I who drew her attention to the other slaves so she might profit from their obedient example.”

  “Ah, well,” said the Prince wearily and agreeably, “perhaps I am only too enamored of her. After all, she wasn’t sent to me as a Tribute, I won her and claimed her myself, and I am too jealous, it seems. Perhaps I seek for some reason to punish her. You’re dismissed. Come for her in the morning, if you will, and we shall see.”

  The Lord, obviously worried that he had failed, left the room quickly.

  Beauty was now alone with the Prince, and the Prince was sitting quietly by the fire looking at her. She was in a great state of agitation; she knew she was blushing as always, and that her breasts were heaving slightly. She rushed forward quite suddenly and pressed her lips to the Prince’s boot, and it seemed to move as if it welcomed her kiss, rising slightly as over and over again she kissed it.

  She was moaning. O, if only he’d give her permission to speak, and when she thought of her fascination with the punished Prince, she blushed all the more.

  But her Prince had risen. He took her wrist and lifted her and drawing her hands behind her back so that he held them firmly, he spanked both her breasts hard until she cried out, feeling the heavy flesh sway and the sting of his hands on her nipples.

  “Am I angry with you? Or am I not?” he asked softly.

  She groaned, imploring him. And he placed her over his knee as she had seen the young Prince over the Page’s knee, and with his bare hand he gave her a smart torrent of blows that had her crying aloud in an instant.

  “To whom do you belong?” he demanded in a low, but angry voice.

  “To you, my Prince, completely!” she cried out. It was dreadful, and then, suddenly unable to control herself she said, “Please, please, my Prince, not in anger, no ...”

  But instantly his left hand clamped over her mouth, and she felt another terrible torrent of hot spanks until her flesh was stinging and she couldn’t control her crying.

  She could feel the Prince’s fingers against her lips. But he would hardly be satisfied with this. He had her on her feet now and by her wrists he led her to a corner of the room between the blazing fire and the curtained window. There was a high stool there made of carved wood, and on this he sat while he stood her beside him. She was crying softly, but she dared not beg again, no matter what happened. He was angry, fiercely angry, and though she could endure any pain for his pleasure, this was unbearable for her. She must please him, must make him loving again, and then any pain at all would not be too much.

  He turned her and she stood facing him as he sat inspecting her. She dared not look him in the face, and then he drew back his cloak, and laying his hand on the golden buckle of his belt said, “Unfasten this.”

  At once she went to obey with her teeth without being told that was how she might do it. She hoped and prayed he would be pleased. She pulled on the leather, her breath soft and fast, and then pulled the strap back so that the belt came loose.

  “Now pull it off,” said the Prince, “and give it to me.”

  She obeyed at once, even though she knew what would follow. It was a thick, wide leather belt. Maybe it would be no worse than a paddle.

  Now he told her to raise her hands and her eyes, and she saw above a metal hook just over her head hanging from a chain on the ceiling.

  “You see here we are not without provisions for disobedient little slaves,” he said in his usual gentle voice. “Now clasp that hook, though it will put you on tiptoe, and you will not dream of letting go of it, do you understand me?”

  “Yes, my Prince,” she cried softly.

  She had hold of it, and it seemed to stretch her out, and the Prince moved back the stool on which he sat and appeared to make himself comfortable. He had ample room in which to swing the strap which he had made into a loop, and he was silent for a moment.

  Beauty cursed herself for ever admiring young Prince Alexi. Yet she was ashamed that his very name had formed in her mind, and when she felt the first hard smack of the belt on her thighs, she let out a frightened little cry but was glad of it.

  She deserved this, and she would never again make such a terrible mistake, no matter how beautiful or enticing were the slaves, and her boldness to look at them had been unforgivable.

  The wide heavy leather belt struck her with a loud, frightening sound, and the flesh of her thighs, more tender perhaps than her buttocks, even sore as they were, seemed to ignite under it. Her mouth was open, she could not keep herself quiet, and suddenly the Prince ordered her to lift her knees and march in place.

  “Quickly, quickly, yes, in rhythm!” he said angrily, and Beauty, astonished, struggled to obey, marching fast, her breasts moving with the effort, her heart pounding.

  “Higher, faster,” the Prince commanded.

  She marched as he commanded, her feet slapping the stone floor, her knees coming up very high, her breasts a terrible aching weight as they swayed, and again came the belt smacking her and stinging her.

  The Prince seemed in a fury.

  The blows came faster and faster, as fast as she was moving her legs, and very soon, Beauty was writhing and struggling to get away from them. She was crying aloud unable to stop herself but the worst of it, the worst of it, was his anger. If only this were for his delight, if only he were pleased with her. She was crying and burying her face in her arm and the balls of her feet were burning, and her thighs felt swollen and blotched with pain as now again he took out his temper upon her buttocks.

  The smacks came so quickly, she had no sense of how many there were, only that it was a great deal more than he’d ever given her before, and it seemed he only grew more agitated, his left hand now thrusting her chin up and closing her mouth so she couldn’t cry, all the while he commanded her to march faster and lift her legs higher.

  “You belong to me!” he said without ever stopping the loud spanking belt. “And you will learn to please me in all things, and you will never please me with your eyes upon the male slaves of my mother. Is this clear to you? Do you understand?”

  “Yes, my Prince,” she struggled to say.

  But he seemed at wits ends to punish her. And stopping her suddenly by lifting her around the middle, he brought her up over the stool which he had just left, so that dangling from the hook which she held for dear life, she was now thrust over it, the wooden seat of the stool pressing into her naked sex, her legs out helplessly behind her.

  And then he sent his worst rain of blows on her, hard snapping spanks that made her calves quiver and sting as her thighs had done before. But no matter how he busied himself with her legs, he always returned to her buttocks, punishing them the hardest so that Beauty was choking with sobs, and felt this as endless.

  Quite suddenly he stopped.

  “Let go the hook,” he commanded, and then he scooped her up over his shoulder and taking her across the room, he flung her down on the bed.

  She fell back on the pillow, and immediately beneath her sore and swollen buttocks and thighs felt a prickling and a roughness. She had only to cast her head slightly to the side to see the jewels glittering on the coverlet. And she knew how they would torture her as soon as he had mounted her.

  But she wanted him so badly. And when she saw him rise up over her, she felt not the hot throbbing pain in her body but a flood of juices between her legs and a new moan coming out of her as she opened herself to him.

  She couldn’t keep from lifting her hips, praying it didn’t displease him.

  He knelt over her, removing his erect cock from his breeches, and then he brought her up on her knees and impaled her upon it.

  She cried out. Her head fell back. It was a great hard driving thing inside her sore and quivering orifice. But she felt it bathed with her juices, and as the Prince forced it in deeper and brought her down upon it, it seemed a spit that rubbed against some mysterious core in her, sending the ecstasy washing through her
so she was giving great guttural moans in spite of herself. The Prince’s thrusts came faster and faster and then he too gave a soft cry, and held her close to him, her breasts aching and pressed to his chest, his lips on the back of her neck, his body softening slowly.

  “Beauty, Beauty,” he whispered. “You have conquered me as surely as I have conquered you. Don’t ever arouse my jealousy again. I don’t know what I would do if you did it!”

  “My Prince,” she moaned and kissed him on the mouth, and when she saw the distress in his face, she covered it with kisses.

  “I’m your slave, my Prince,” she said.

  But he would only moan and press his face into her neck, and seemed bereft.

  “I love you,” she implored him, and then he laid her down on the bed, and drawing up beside her, took his wine from the bedside stand and, gazing at the fire, seemed for a long time to be thinking.

  PRINCE ALEXI

  BEAUTY DREAMED a dream of boredom. She roamed the castle in which she had lived all her life, with nothing to do, and now and then paused in a deep window seat to watch the tiny figures of the peasants in the fields below gathering the fresh mown grass into haystacks. The sky was cloudless and she disliked the look of it, its sameness and vastness.

  It seemed she could not find anything to do that hadn’t been done a thousand times before, and then suddenly there came to her ears a sound she could not identify.

  She followed the sound, and through a doorway saw an old woman, bent and ugly, plying a strange contraption. It was a great turning wheel with a thread that was winding itself upon a spindle.

  “What is it?” Beauty asked with great interest. “Come see for yourself,” said the old woman, who had the most remarkable voice, because it was young and strong and so unlike her visage.